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Late Season Lake Champlain and Lovely Stave Island
© 2003 Bonita Productions Inc.
Flag of Vermont
Late Season Lake Champlain and Lovely Stave Island
by Brooke Cunningham
I don’t know who was in charge of my mouth when the words “Let’s go sailing during fall foliage.” came out. “You guys are crazy!” replayed in my head as I looked out the window at the 40 degree drizzle while zipping up the dry bags. I considered whether it was an omen about the next three days of sailing on Lake Champlain that I was already wearing my foul weather gear. 
Captain Robin should have realized that once again my enthusiasm had shaken off the lines of reason and my dedication to the poetry of a grand adventure had slipped its mooring. After nine years of managing the Winds of Ireland charter fleet out of Burlington certainly she should know that “You bring the boat, I will round up the crew” is reasonable in July but questionable in late September. Still, Robin, Patty, Carol, Judy and I were all set for our fall foliage female freedom sail, and the fact that the temperature was 45 degrees was simply not raised. Did I forget to mention that while I knew each one of these girls, not one of them knew anyone aboard but me? Patty and I met at the All Women’s Sailing Week held annually at the Bitter End Yacht Club on Virgin Gorda. Carol and I met at a small conference, where the subject of how short the sailing season in Vermont was came up. Judy and I worked together in Burlington for a while, which is where I discovered that she had never been aboard a sail boat. It was obvious to me at least that we would be a perfect crew of adventurers.
The idea was that an all women crew of five would leave the Lake Champlain Yacht Club (LCYC) on a Friday morning in late September well provisioned with things so fattening we would never eat them at home, many bottles of wine, plenty of fleece and of course our fluffy slippers. We would sail to Stave Island and prepare a feast for Dawn and Bill Hazelett, the owners of that private island. Being satiated with the interesting conversations and our fabulous cooking we would stay on the boat in the shelter of their lovely harbor overnight. Saturday we would follow the best wind in search of the full beauty of autumn foliage. Like mariners of old, we would find a previously unknown and magical anchorage to experience the exquisite dinner and the moonlit late season beauty of the lake. We would become intoxicated by our female freedom at sea, and possibly the case of wine we had aboard. Sunday we would fly our mighty craft back to Shelburn and join, surely to win, the infamous Hot Ruddered Bum Race which traditionally signifies the end of the sailing season on Lake Champlain. That is pretty much the way it went too.
But, just before our departure date Judy called me one night and said “Paul really wants to come. Isn’t there a way we can bring him along?” After a bit of thought I said “OK on two conditions. One: he is willing to be the chef and two: that he understands that he is the beefcake.” Her reply was that her husband was planning menus and selecting the wines for the trip as we were speaking. Paul is a chef of no small reputation, and his mother raised him right. He has that irresistible philosophy that every woman is beautiful and should be treated like a jewel. That plus the fact that he had never been sailing made him perfect “rail meat” for the weekend.
So this was our crew for the late season foliage tour of the lake. Robin was the captain which of course put her in charge of the weather. She had executed that duty by reminding us all to bring lots of layers. She did fail to mention that we might be wearing them all at once. Friday morning the sun was out, and the lake was glorious with yellow trees on either side. Getting to know each other was good fun and we all looked forward to dinner with interesting people in a historical house on lovely Stave Island.
The island caretakers showed us to the main house so that we (meaning Paul) could start preparing our boat delivered catered dinner. While we warmed up I showed the girls around the house as Paul worked his magic filling the air with garlic, onion, lamb and herbs.
This old house is from the era when homes were built like ships, and butler’s pantries had slim wooden drawers for carefully ironed linens. There are wooden walls, windows placed for best advantage, carefully thought out details and the evidence of someone’s hand work everywhere your eyes wander.
The meaning of time changes on an island. The Hazeletts and their children, and now grandchildren have preserved a disappearing lifestyle between the two houses on the 85 acre island. Somewhere amid Dawn’s unerring grace and welcoming vitality, and Bill’s energetic curiosity conversations evolve, feasts are shared, friendships grow and the troubles of the world seem solvable and far beyond the edge of the island.Bill and Dawn had not arrived yet when we tied up on the inside of the cement breakwater that protects the harbor at Stave Island. We were a tad early due to 35 knots of wind across the lake. Filling the house with mouth watering smells and building a roaring fire were our tasks before our hosts arrived. Those accomplished, we went in search of the 60’ watch tower with its 360 degree view of the broad lake. Through fading daylight we spotted Dawn and Bill coming west through the cut out of Mallett’s Bay in a small runabout.
A bright orange sunset, hot luscious hors d’oeurvres and cocktails on the afternoon porch seemed timeless and precious, especially in the face of the blustery weather moving in from the West. Later we passed platters of Paul’s authentic tuscan fare with bottles of wine circulating through the chatter and clatter followed by port in front of the huge crackling blaze in a floor to ceiling stone fireplace. A day filled with friends, adventure, good food that ends in a bunk pretty well describes “perfect” for some of us.
I heard rain on the deck from my bunk aboard Colleen that night as I was gently rocked to sleep in the protection of the harbor. The sound of thunder through a still darkened sky was my first clue that we might not leave in the morning, horizontal rain was the second. Over dinner Bill and Dawn had given us directions to the path that circumnavigates the island and invited us to explore. After hot coffee and fresh bagels hiking to the tower seemed like a very good way to see what the weather might bring in next. We spent the next 4 hours happily finding clearings amid huge weather contorted trees, rocky beaches, cliffs, and caves all along the path making each one of us feel like Robinson Crusoe.
The weather gave us a break after lunch and we set out across the lake leaping between patches of sun in 30 knots of wind. We flew from Vermont to New York and then a bit south, finally coming in for a gentle landing back in Vermont at North Beach. Our exhilarating day left us sheltered behind a large outcropping of cliff within easy reach of the race at LCYC in the morning. The chill of such high velocity sailing wore off under the influence of wine, a hot chicken family recipe from the oven, and bright orange light radiating from the following edge of the storm we had just sailed behind all day.
Sleep had come so easily after the fast paced day, warm dinner, and slightly inadvisable amounts of wine that night. Morning exploded with sunlight as we sat in the cockpit over breakfast discussing how we had become a pretty good crew in the stiff winds of the day before. We felt like real seafaring adventurers, having braved the weather and emerged into a perfect autumn day.
Flushed with the spirit of adventuring conquerors our crew turned towards the upcoming race. It was certainly a portent that we needed the engine to drive out to the wind, and there was barely enough of that to make a start line that we could see only two miles away. A heavy 41’ Hunter racing against the streamlined finesse of 29’ Etchels in two knots of wind made observing rather than competing our choice of the day. The sun was hammering while someone won the race and someone else burned burgers for those assembled at the yacht after the race. Through cold, rain and high winds we had emerged to get sunburned from our splendid adventure on the late season lake. It felt so good in fact that we are planning a reunion, perhaps in July or August.
Winds of Ireland Charter Yachts
Attn: Robin Jeffers
100 Grove St., Burlington, VT 05401
800-499-0062
*The expression “rail meat” means a non-sailor aboard who serves some useful purpose. The ability to stay out of the water and show enthusiasm is often enough of a qualifier.
Real Travel Adventures International Magazine
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